Of Honor and Lies
by Howlets Wing
Summary: He hadn't heard the second arrow fly, but there it was, buried deep in his chest. He felt himself falling to his knees, his back slamming against the rough bark of a pine tree. He gasped in pain but it felt as if he were breathing around a wad of cotton..
1. Prologue

**Hello everyone. This is a bit of an Alternate Universe in the sense that only Ned and Sansa and their guards head South with the king. Jon also remains at Winterfell for the purpose of this story. For those of you who have read the books, I am also playing with the theory that L+R=J. Anyways for now I think that is all you really need to know. I hope you all enjoy and please remember to tell me what you think ****J**

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><p>Ghost had disappeared in the shadows of the Wolfswood over ten minutes ago, leaving Jon alone with his thoughts. He knew he shouldn't have come here alone; the wood was full of all manner of beasts, but he needed time to think, and quite frankly he wasn't in the mood to be around anyone after this morning. Robb's words still rang in his ears.<p>

It had been a week since their father had gone South with the king and his entourage, but the tension from the visit still lingered around Winterfell. Robb in particular still felt the blow to his pride dealt by the Prince. He had been in bad spirits all morning and he and Theon had been spending the better part of an hour discussing different methods of revenge if the opportunity arose. It was during one particular scenario, proposed by Theon no less that Jon spoke up. He had grown tired of Theon's devious plotting and had spoken without really thinking, pointing out the dishonor such an act would invoke.

"And what would a bastard know of honor?" Robb said icily. The words were like a dagger but it was the fact that the words had spilled from Robb's lips that drove the blade home. Robb who was his greatest competition and best friend, Robb who was his brother and one of the few in their home to treat him as an equal, one of the few people who had never used his parentage against him. Until now.

The look on Robb's face was one of shock and horror. It was obvious he had not meant to say those words, that he'd give anything to take them back. But the damage had been done. For a moment Jon just stood there too shocked to move, then he took a step back before finally turning away from the two boys and running in the direction they had come from. He could hear Robb's shouts but he ignored them. People called after him, asking what was wrong but he paid them no mind and soon they were only blurs in the peripheral of his vision. At some point Ghost had joined him, Jon could sense the direwolf close at his heals even without turning back to look and with his companion he passed through the main gate and left Winterfell behind.

They had entered the forest soon after, and had spent the last couple of hours wandering about. Jon had lost track of time, and soon even his surroundings were lost to him as well. It was a snap of a twig that brought him back into focus. It was nearly dusk, and he briefly wondered when it had begun to snow. The icy flakes had caught in his hair and the fur of his cloak. There was no sign of Ghost, and Jon was about to call out for him when another snap of branches sounded from his left.

_'Ghost?'_ He wondered, but no. Something told him otherwise. There was a tension in the air he had not noticed before, and the birds that had been singing cheerfully before had now fallen silent. The only sound now was the light ping of the snowflakes falling to the ground and the snapping of more twigs-closer now. He peered into the shadows around him cast by the trees but could see nothing and cursed as he realized that the only weapon he carried was the dagger at his belt.

He heard the thrum of a bow string as an arrow was released: the only warning before he felt a surge of pain in his shoulder. He glanced-shocked-at the thick black shaft protruding from just below his collar bone before a sharp, burning sensation bloomed in his chest. He hadn't heard the second arrow fly, but there it was, buried deep in his chest. He felt himself falling to his knees, his back slamming against the rough bark of a pine tree. He gasped in pain but it felt as if he were breathing around a wad of cotton. A deep, mirthless chuckle broke through the haze of pain forming in his mind, but then darkness took him and he knew nothing more.

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><p>Ghost had sensed something was wrong. The forest was tense and quiet, as if the creatures within were holding their breath. He sought out his master, the stag he'd been stalking completely forgotten as the scent of Jon's blood filled the air. Weaving between trees and rocks, Ghost hastened to reach his friend, his panic urging him faster and faster until the scent of blood became so thick it burned his nose.<p>

He slowed his pace as he came to the edge of a clearing. His master lay at the base of a tree, two arrows protruded from his chest and blood had begun to pool around him, but what angered him most were the two men who hovered above him sneering as they stabbed Jon in the side with a thin curved blade. His hackles raised and he felt his lips curl up in a snarl. Then men turned to look at him, the smaller of the two- the one who did the stabbing- raised his bow and notched an arrow. Ghost lowered his head and bared his teeth. He was about to attack but the large man put a hand on the other man's bow arm, forcing him to lower his weapon.

"Leave it be, our job is done." He said as he turned to leave. The bowman hesitated, clearly intent on driving an arrow through Ghost's heart, but finally he sighed and followed his friend. Ghost watched them, silent snarl never wavering, as the two disappeared into the shadows of the forest. He wanted nothing more than to run after them and tear out their throats, but a soft moan from Jon made him hesitate. When he was sure the men were gone he made his way over to his fallen master. The direwolf sniffed at the wounds and growled softly. There was a foul smell coming from the wounds, something unnatural. Ghost weighed his options. He could go back to Winterfell and bring someone back to help, but the snow was falling harder now and the sun had almost completely set. He would not leave Jon alone in the cold. Instead he curled up beside the man and laid his head on his chest, mindful of his injuries, and kept watch.

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><p><strong>So…was it good? Did it suck horribly? Please review and let me know what you thought!<strong>


	2. Found and Broken

**Hello again! So I had originally planned on updating this for the weekend but decided I'd throw it out there early. Let me know what you think :)**

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><p>Robb had been pacing his room for the better part of an hour. It had been hours since he had last seen Jon and he couldn't help but feel a nagging suspicion that something was wrong. It wasn't like him to miss training, let alone dinner, but as the hours passed there was still no sign of his half-brother.<p>

The guards had been searching Winterfell and the surrounding area since dinner with no success. They were searching still; Robb could hear their voices calling his name through his open window, and for the thousandth time he wished he was with them. He should be out there searching but his mother had forbidden it-stating he needed his rest if he was going to run the city in his father's stead. As if he could sleep now.

Every time he closed his eyes he saw Jon's face; the shock and hurt he saw in his eyes tore at his heart. His own words haunted him. He should never have said those things, had never meant to say them. He had let his bad mood affect him and had lashed out. He would have given anything to take them back. He should have gone after him, and he would have, but Theon had stopped him.

Bran and Arya were worried as well. He had just sent them both to bed, but he doubted they had actually listened. Arya especially was riled up, saying that when she got her hands on Jon she was going to strangle him with her sewing thread. She probably would too. The thought made him smile; the first real smile he had had since before the royal family had arrived.

A knock at his door interrupted his thoughts. He opened it hastily and was met face to face with one of the guardsmen. Hope surged through him for a moment before he saw the look in the man's eye.

"I'm sorry my lord, but we haven't been able to find your brother and the storm is growing worse." The hope drained from him at the words, leaving him empty and exhausted. With a heavy sigh he addressed the guard.

"I understand. Tell the others to get some rest. We'll search at first light"

"At first light, my lord." The guard nodded and turned to leave. Rob closed the door behind him and walked to his open window. He wouldn't be sleeping tonight.

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><p>Robb had been the first one in the stables that morning. After the others arrived they had resumed the search and headed into the Wolfswood. After a few hours they had broken into smaller groups, Theon and Robb had taken a few men and pressed deeper into the forest. It was nearly noon when Greywind stopped suddenly and stared into a patch of pine trees. Robb peered into the shadows and saw movement.<p>

Suddenly Ghost appeared, running over to the group. He stopped to touch noses with Greywind before turning back to the others. Robb dismounted and held out his hand to the white direwolf. He sniffed it and allowed Robb to scratch his head.

"What's happened, Ghost? Where is he?" Robb asked softly. Ghost stared into his eyes for a moment, then turned and ran back in the direction he had come, stopping by the copse of trees. Robb mounted his horse and followed, ignoring the calls from the others. Together rider and wolves disappeared into the shadows. Ghost led them through the forest at an urgent speed and Robb pressed his mount to go faster, not caring that the others were far behind them.

Finally they stopped at a clearing. Ghost made a soft whimpering sound-the only noise Robb had ever heard him make- and walked to the center of the clearing where a dark figure lay. Robb dismounted and followed, letting out a moan as he took in the sight before him. Jon lay against the base of a pine tree, half covered by snow, but even at this distance Robb could see the pool of frozen blood that his brother was lying in. He reached Jon just as Theon entered the clearing.

Jon's lips were tinted with blue, and blood had seeped through his shirt from a wound in his side, but what caught Robb's attention were the two black arrows protruding from his chest. Peeling off a glove, he knelt by his brother's side and brushed the hair from his face.

Jon was cold to the touch, but Robb forced himself to move his hand down to the pulse point at his neck. He could feel nothing, yet he refused to give in to the panic that was growing steadily within him. Taking out his dagger he placed it beneath his brother's nose and waited. A moment passed, and then another before a light mist formed on the blade.

"He's alive." Theon said from beside him, sounding almost relieved. Robb hadn't even heard him approach. He sheathed his dagger and returned his attention to the arrows. Gripping the arrow closest to the center of Jon's chest, he was about to yank it out when a hand on his own stopped him.

"Better not." Theon advised. "It's too close to his heart. Best let the Maester play with the task."

Robb glared at him but finally relented with a sigh.

"We have to get him to Winterfell." Theon nodded in agreement and motioned to the horses.

"Get on your horse. I'll help you lift him up." He said, already moving Jon. Robb was shocked at the caution he used; Theon and Jon had never really gotten along. Despite how gentle he was, however, the movement jostled the wounds and a small groan escaped Jon's lips. His eyes fluttered open and he looked around.

"Robb…" He whispered, barely audible as pain-filled eyes sought Robb's.

"Shh, Easy, Snow. We're going to get you home." Robb said softly, brushing the hair from his brother's eyes. He glanced at Theon and nodded. Retrieving his horse he mounted. Theon helped to sit Jon in front of him before turning to retrieve his own horse.

"I'll tell the lads that we found him and ride ahead to Winterfell. Ride carefully Robb." And with that, Theon kicked his horse hard and disappeared into the trees.

Robb glanced down at Jon. His brother was still fighting consciousness, his breathing hard and ragged. Robb could feel the uneven rise and fall of his chest and the rapid fluttering of his heartbeat beneath his hand. Jon groaned in pain when the horse began to move forward. Though the gait was smooth and they moved at an easy pace, Jon was tense with pain.

"Lean against me, little brother. We'll be home soon." Robb whispered softly into his brother's ear. The lack of an argument to the little used endearment told Robb more than anything else. Normally calling Jon "little brother" sparked a rebuke. Jon had always said that the fact that they were a few months apart did not qualify such an endearment.

As children Robb would tease him with it constantly. It wasn't until they were older and Robb learned what it truly meant to be a bastard, and how Jon yearned to be treated as an equal that he had stopped. He used it now, more to get a reaction from his brother, to ensure the situation wasn't as dire as it seemed. Instead of arguing however, Jon did as he was told, leaning against his brother's chest as they continued towards Winterfell.

Jon was unconscious by the time they reached the edge of the forest. Rob tightened his grip around his brother's chest, mindful of his wounds, and whispered soft words of encouragement that did more to soothe himself than Jon.

"You are such a fool" He said softly as the city gates came into view. "What were you thinking, entering the Wolfswood alone and unarmed?" There was no response and soon they were passing through the gates into Winterfell. Robb pushed through the growing crowd of people who had come to see what was going on. He could hear the thrum of voices, low and whispering and worried.

He slowed to a stop when they approached the castle, carefully easing his brother into the awaiting hands of his men before dismounting himself. They had placed Jon on a stretcher, and Maester Luwin leaned over him, examining the wounds. After a moment he ordered the men to take Jon to his room before turning to look at Robb. The look in the old Maester's eyes filled Robb's heart with dread. He felt an icy chill run through his body as he waited for the words that could possibly change his life forever.

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><p><strong>Alrighty. So, this particular scene has been swirling in my head for MONTHS. It is actually what made me want to write this story in the first place, but when I finally sat down and tried to write it the little jerk decided to fight me the entire time. I've re-written it quite a few times and I'm still not sure how I feel about it. What do you think? Was it good? Was it horrible? Did it make you want to tear out your own eyes? Let me know what you're thinking!<strong>


	3. Of Pain and Fear

**Hello everyone! First off I'd like to thank you all for your amazing reviews! You have no idea how happy they made me. To be honest I was very nervous about posting this story, I just feel so intimidated because George R.R. Martin writes so beautifully, and the show is so amazing that I was afraid I wouldn't be able to do them justice. ****But it's so wonderful to know that people are actually enjoying it! So, without further ado, here is chapter 3. I hope you enjoy :) and as always let me know what you think!**

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><p>"I will not lie to you" Maester Luwin spoke softly. Robb resisted the urge to run and forced himself to listen to what the old man said. "Young Snow's injuries are great and the night spent in the elements, unprotected, has most likely done more harm than good. There is a very good chance that your brother will lose this fight."<p>

Robb had gone completely numb, his mind barely processing the words. He followed Maester Luwin up the stairwell to Jon's chambers. Arya was already glued to Jon's side, smoothing his hair and speaking softly to him while she fought the tears in her eyes. One of the servants tried to pry her away but she clung to their brother even tighter, glaring at the offending hands.

"Arya, child, enough of this. You must let Maester Luwin work in peace. Come with me now" Septa Mordane was saying.

"No! I won't leave him!" Arya was almost screaming now as she slapped the septa's hands away.

"Enough of this!" Everyone quieted as Robb entered the room, even Arya remained silent save for her soft sniffles. He nodded to the servants and the septa in a silent dismissal before turning to his sister. She had relaxed slightly, but still stuck her chin out defiantly.

"Arya," he sighed, and he knew he sounded as weary as he felt.

"Oh please, Robb. Please don't make me leave! I don't want him to die alone." She threw herself into his arms and sobbed into his chest. He held her for a moment, afraid his voice would break if he spoke. Finally he pulled her away and knelt before her, forcing her to look into his eyes.

"He is _not_ going to die" Robb said more forcefully than he intended. "I won't let him die" He added, softening his tone at her wide-eyed face. She sniffled softly and wiped her eyes.

"Promise?" She croaked. Robb knew he shouldn't make such a promise, but as he looked into his sister's tear-filled eyes and listened to his brother's labored breathing he felt a fire in his heart.

"Promise" He would do everything in his power to keep his brother with him. He'd fight the gods, new and old, if he had to. Arya seemed to accept this, composing herself before once again wrapping her arms around his neck in a tight hug.

"Will you stay with him?" She asked softly.

"Aye, little one. As long as the Maester allows it I will remain by Jon's side." He pulled away and kissed her on the forehead. "Now, go with your septa and behave. Mother will be cross and Jon wouldn't want you to get into trouble." Arya sighed, and after giving Robb a kiss on the cheek and giving Jon one last look, she left the room.

Robb turned to see Maester Luwin standing behind him. He had forgotten all about the old man until then. He expected the man to protest, to throw him out of the room along with Arya, but he only nodded and set his instruments down on the small table next to the bed. Taking a deep breath, Robb closed the door and made his way over to Jon's bedside. Maester Luwin fixed Robb with a hard stare as he examined Jon's wounds.

"Are you sure you wish to do this, my lord? I could just as easily have one of the servants help me." He asked. Robb glanced briefly at Jon before meeting the Maester's eyes.

"No Maester Luwin. I would like to stay. I have to stay"

"As you wish. You may help me with his clothing then. I need to see the wounds before I remove the arrows."

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><p>It had taken a long time to cut away Jon's shirt from the arrows. Finally, after what seemed to Robb to be hours, the last of the cloth fell away from his torso. Robb had to turn away as a wave of nausea overtook him.<p>

Growing up in Winterfell, he was no stranger to wounds. The life of a northerner was hard and unyielding and accidents were not uncommon. But this was his brother, and every bone in his body told him that this was no accident.

"It would seem that a night in the cold worked in our favor." Maester Luwin's voice drew Robb back to the task at hand and he glanced at the old man in puzzlement. The Maester nodded at the wounds "it slowed the bleeding. We'll need to take care he does not warm too quickly."

Robb watched as the old man tended the ugly gash in Jon's side. It was minor compared to the arrow wounds, but ugly nonetheless. It didn't take the Maester long to clean and stitch the wound, and through the ministrations Jon didn't even stir.

The arrows were a different matter. The wounds were angry and red around the black wood of the arrow shaft. Maester Luwin had barely even touched the wound in Jon's chest, but his brother moaned and tensed from pain, his head thrashing to the side.

"Easy, Snow, easy." Robb said softly, gently placing his hand on his brother's forehead. Jon settled almost immediately, though his breathing was ragged and a thin gleam of sweat shone on his skin. Robb glanced back to the wound that held the old man's attention. Though the head was holding back the blood, a black liquid was oozing out of the wound. The Maester frowned.

"What is it?" Robb asked.

"Poison" The old man replied. Robb felt his own blood run cold as he stared at the wound. Maester Luwin had moved to the table, looking over his instruments before returning with a small knife. He fixed Robb with a hard look.

"Hold him. As tight as you can." The old man was saying, but Robb could only look at him. "Damn it boy! Do as I say or I will find someone who will!" This snapped him to attention and he gripped his brother's shoulders tightly as the old man hovered over his brother's wounds. Suddenly a thought struck him.

"Wait! Aren't you going to give him something? For the pain?" Maester Luwin looked at him sadly and shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Robb. I fear giving him anything without knowing what this poison is and how it will react. I'm afraid that this is the only way." At Robb's hesitation he added softly, "I know this is hard for you. If you'd prefer I can always have a servant help me. You should not have to see this."

At this, Robb felt a wave wash over him, taking with it his fear and anxiousness and filling him with a strength he was never sure he possessed. He had to be strong for his brother. Something inside of him, some nagging little voice, told him he had to stay by Jon's side.

"No, Maester Luwin. I want to stay." The old man hesitated, looking at Robb for a long moment before nodding.

"Hold him down then." He did as he was told, bracing himself. He felt a pang in his heart, for he knew that even unconscious, Jon would feel the pain and, it would be excruciating.

"I'm sorry, Snow." Robb whispered. "This is going to hurt, but it has to be done. You know I wouldn't allow it otherwise."

With a look at Robb to make sure he was prepared, Maester Luwin began his work. He cut a deep incision around the arrow's head, carefully working the arrow as he did so. Robb could feel the pain move through his brother's body even before the agonized scream escaped his lips.

Robb held him down as the Maester worked. Jon arched and fought, his hands clenching tightly around his sheets, but Robb only held tighter. Hours passed before the first arrow was out. By then Jon was drenched in sweat and pale.

Robb was shaking when he looked up at Maester Luwin, and he gasped when he saw what the man held. The arrowhead was not only large and wide, but it also sported large spikes. Robb felt the anger rise.

"He's lucky." The old man was saying. Robb looked at him incredulous. "Just a hair deeper and the arrow would have pierced his heart and lung." His words did nothing to quell the rage that was burning inside Robb. If anything it only fanned the flames. The old man placed the arrow on the table and then turned back to Jon, preparing to remove the second arrow.

"Wait! Will you not give him a moment?" Robb protested.

"We cannot afford to wait, my lord." The Maester replied, barely glancing away from the wound as he motioned to Robb to take his place. Robb glanced down at Jon and frowned. His brother was breathing hard and shivering slightly. His hair clung to his face from sweat and Robb brushed it away.

"He's so weak already. Will he survive that?" He asked the Maester, his tone low and serious. Maester Luwin sighed and looked at Robb.

"I told you earlier that it was a very real possibility that we would lose your brother. Still, I'm amazed he's lasted this long. Your brother is a fighter, Robb. If anyone can survive this, it would be him." It was only a glimmer of hope, but Robb clung to it. With a shuddering sigh he placed his hands on his brother's shoulders.

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><p><strong>So this was originally going to be a bit longer, but I felt this was a good place to stop for now. So what did you think? Good? Bad? Hit that little button and tell me!<strong>


	4. Nightmares

**Good lord it's been forever. I am so sorry guys. Things got a little crazy with the holidays, and then I got a new laptop and had to move everything over which took much longer than I expected. Thank you to everyone who reviewed/PMed/and added this story to their favs and alerts. It really kept me going. This unfortunately has not been beta'd but I wanted to get it up asap. You guys deserve it! Again I am very sorry for the long wait and I hope you enjoy this next installment.**

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><p>The second arrow didn't take quite as long to remove as the first. Robb thanked every god he could think of for that. It was well past dusk when Maester Luwin announced he had finished and Robb sighed with relief.<p>

While it may not have been as difficult as the first, it was no less painful for Jon. His brother had fought and struggled against him even in his weakened state, and his agonized screams were sure to haunt Robb's nightmares for years to come.

Relief was short lived, however, for even as the Maester was cleaning and stitching the final wound it was obvious Jon's fight was not over. The blood loss had left him pale and weak. Jon was moaning softly as he tossed and turned and even Robb's gentle words could not soothe him.

Robb placed his hand on his brother's forehead in an attempt to comfort him. Only hours before Jon had been icy to the touch. Now he was burning with fever.

"He's burning" he said. Maester Luwin glanced up and placed his own hand on Jon's forehead.

"To be expected after such an experience. His body is fighting the shock from the surgery as well as the poison, no doubt." The Maester said as he went back to his work. Robb had almost forgotten about the poison.

"What can we do?" Robb asked. He did not take his eyes off his brother's face.

"Try to keep him calm and cool. And pray." The old man said sadly.

"I have done all I can for the time being" Maester Luwin announced. "I will send for one of the servants to sit with him. The next few days will be critical and he should not be alone."

"There's no need, Maester. I'll stay with him" Robb stated as the old man turned to leave. At Robb's words however he hesitated at the door.

"With all do respect, my lord, I do not think that wise. Your mother-"

"My mother's own house places family above all else. She should understand better than anyone why I must stay. Jon may not be her son, but he is my brother. I will not leave him." Robb replied, a slight edge to his voice.

Maester Luwin regarded Robb with an intense stare. He looked as if he were about to argue, but finally he nodded, promised to have his meal sent up to the room, and left.

Jon moaned, tossing his head to the side. His dark curls were plastered to his face and Robb again brushed them away, frowning at the heat radiating from his skin. With a sigh he grabbed the pitcher of water and poured it into the empty basin on Jon's nightstand. Dipping a cloth in the cool water, he wrung it out and placed it on Jon's forehead.

Jon tensed at the sudden coolness. For a moment he shied away but at Robb's voice he relaxed. Robb smiled slightly and took a seat next to the bed and prepared himself for what he knew was going to be a long night.

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><p><em>Fire and jagged glass seemed to move through Jon's veins. No matter what he did he could not get rid of the pain, nor could he tell where it came from. The pain seemed more intense in his chest but he could not for the life of him determine a cause.<em>

_He looked around him, wanting to ask someone for help, but there was no one. The entire city seemed to be deserted. As the bastard son of the Lord of Winterfell, Jon had always been an outsider, but never had he felt so completely alone. _

_It seemed colder than he remembered it being, and darker. Shadows seemed to close in on him, moving of their own accord. He walked through the halls of his home calling for his brothers, his sisters-even his father- but no one answered. Ghost was even absent from his side._

_A noise sounded from behind him and he turned to gaze down the hall, trying to peer through the darkness, but he could see nothing. Slowly he made his way toward the sound, trailing his hand along the wall in guidance. The noise came again, closer this time. Jon froze, straining to hear through the deafening darkness in order to gauge where it was coming from. _

_A harsh shuffling came from in front of him, as if something were being dragged across the stone floor though Jon could not be sure. Whatever it was, it was moving down the hallway. Jon thought about calling out, but something stopped him. In the back of his mind he knew this was a dream, but he continued on regardless._

_It was as if he were walking through a labyrinth. The halls of the castle seemed longer, and the noise led him through twists and turns he didn't remember. The darkness was suffocating, only adding to the eerie atmosphere and Jon could feel the hair at the back of his neck begin to stand on end. Something was wrong. _

_Suddenly the wall he'd been using as a guide ended as the hallway took an abrupt corner. Jon stumbled, and with nothing to grasp at except air, he fell with a thud to the floor. _

_White hot pain shot through his chest and it was all he could do not to scream out. His vision swam as sparks of color flashed behind his eyes. It took several moments before his senses came back to him and he realized he was lying in a puddle of something cool and sticky. _

_With a groan he tried to push himself up but his hand slipped and he fell back into the liquid with a sickening splash. It coated him now. He could feel it in his hair, on his face-the smell of it making him gag. Metallic and slightly sweet, and he realized with a start what it was. _

_Panic overwhelmed him, and for a moment he thrashed in an attempt to be free of the bloody pool. Slipping and stumbling unceremoniously, Jon blindly fumbled against the stone floor until finally he made contact with the wall. He leaned against it for a moment, breathing heavily before shakily standing up. _

_A cool breeze ruffled his hair and he turned in its direction. There, distant but sure, a pale light pierced the darkness. Jon hesitated only a moment before running towards it. _

_He moved through the passageway and into the fresh cool air of morning, momentarily blinded by the pale blue light. He was outside, and with a start he realized he had somehow entered the Godswood. _

_Jon felt as if he were in a daze as he made his way through the sacred garden. Without thinking he made his way deeper into the wood, somehow knowing the answers he sought could be found at the Heart Tree. _

_After what seemed like hours, Jon finally reached the spring at the heart of the wood. He could feel himself relaxing slightly at the soft babbling of the water, but that relief was washed away in seconds as he looked at the water. It was red and thick with blood and gore. The scent of death hung in the air, stagnant and suffocating. _

_Jon chocked and gagged, nearly falling to his knees as the sight and smell hit him. He tried to catch his breath, but his body rejected the putrid scent. It took all his strength to force his body to calm as he tried to take in his surroundings. He gazed at the spring, forcing himself to follow the trail of gore in the water to the heart tree._

_Nothing could have prepared him for what he found. He did drop to his knees then, retching into grass. Tears fell from his eyes, hot and angry as the scream that tore through his throat. _

_The face of the great weirwood tree had been mutilated-slashed as if by claws and the sap flowed down the white bark in a bloody river, but it was what hung from the branches that tore at Jon's soul._

_Several bodies hung from the heart tree. His brothers and sister hung upside-down. Their throats had been slit, bodies mutilated. Angry slashes ravaged their pale skin as if they had been torn into by a hungry animal. Their innards spilled on the ground, but it was their eyes that affected him most-filled with fear and pain. _

_His body was growing cold. He could feel the numbing ice flood through his veins as he stared at their faces; shock and horror and pain. He couldn't look away, couldn't stop the tears falling from his eyes. _

_A low grumbling chuckle shattered the stillness and Jon snapped around. A tall man stood behind him. No. Not a man he realized, but something else. Long claws-, still dripping with his family's blood- adorned each of the_ _demon's fingers. Its dark hair blew away from his face in the soft breeze, revealing eyes blacker than coal and the light glinted off sharp fangs as the creature laughed. _

"_I see you've found my killing tree" It said, its voice dripping with dark amusement. "tell me, do you like my work?"_

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><p>Jon had been tossing and turning for hours, lost in fevered dreams. Robb was exhausted though he refused to leave his brother's side. Instead he bathed his brother's brow, neck, and chest in a vain attempt to cool him and fight the fever.<p>

Jon called out in his delirium for his brothers and sisters and father, tears streaming down his face. He clawed at the bed sheets that now entangled him, fighting against unseen assailants. Robb murmured softly to his brother, though he had long since lost track of what he was saying.

Suddenly Jon screamed, a noise filled with so much anguish and pain that it tore at Robb's heart. For a moment Robb froze as he watched his younger brother thrash so violently he threatened to tear out his stitches.

The ragged sobs that tore from Jon's throat snapped him back into action. He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled Jon against him, holding his arm across his brother's chest to hold him still.

Jon fought hard, still crying out but Robb maintained his hold. Finally Jon seemed to relax, sagging heavily against Robb, though the tears still spilled freely from his eyes. Robb sighed from relief but didn't relinquish his hold on his brother for a long time. Instead he held him closer and rested his chin against Jon's dark curls.

"Everything's going to be alright. Just relax." He whispered into the darkness, unsure if he was talking to Jon or himself.

* * *

><p>Music and the raucous voices of the men followed Ned Stark as he made his way to his room. They had been riding for King's Landing for a week now and this was the first inn they had stumbled upon. He had sent Sansa to bed hours ago, and had meant to retire himself but Robert hadn't allowed it.<p>

Instead he watched as Robert sang and flirted and drank his way through what must have been his entire weight in ale. It was hours before he was able to sneak away to his own room, exhausted and sporting a particularly troublesome headache.

With a weary sigh he bent over the basin and splashed some water on his face. He sat on the edge of his bed, removing his boots and tunic before falling back into the awaiting mattress. His pillow whispered sweet nothings into his ear, and he cursed his friend for keeping him away for so long.

_He couldn't have said when consciousness turned to dream, couldn't remember when sleep overtook him, but he found himself surrounded by grey mist and knew he was not awake. Formless shadows danced before him, but seemed to slink away when he approached. _

_He was in a forest, that much he knew, but he didn't remember how he had come to be there. Birds sang merrily and he could hear the lazy hum of insects, but there was something in the air that set him on edge. His muscles tensed in anticipation and every sense alert, waiting for something to happen. _

_He walked through the trees with his hand on the hilt of his sword. The mist seemed to move with him, wrapping around him until he could barely see his own nose. Suddenly a twig snapped. Ned turned abruptly towards the sound, ready to free Ice from its sheath at any sign of danger. _

_Another snap and he was sure it was footsteps now. Closer and closer it came, though he could make out nothing through the mist. _

"_Lord Stark" Said a voice, so close Ned was sure he could have reached out and touched the speaker. He jumped back in surprise, ramming his back into the trunk of a tree. Ice was free, ready to defend himself should the need arise._

"_Steady my lord, I mean you no harm" it said again, no closer than before. Ned relaxed slightly, but only just._

"_Who are you_? _Show yourself! Why have you brought me here?" He demanded. There was a soft snort in reply._

"_Who I am is of no concern to you. I have come to bring you a warning." _

"_A warning?"_

"_You must return to Winterfell. The son of ice and fire is in danger"_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Ok, so I am really not too crazy about these dream sequences. I had this mostly finished when I uploaded the last chapter, but unfortunately lost most of it when I moved everything over to my new laptop. Jon's dream sequence especially was much longer and, in my opinion, far better than this version, but alas, you can never rewrite something once it's lost. I do hope it wasn't too much of a disappointment though. But do let me know. You guys keep me going so please review! <strong>  
><em>


	5. Ties That Bind

**Alright guys, here is the next chapter! I'm so sorry it has taken me so long to get it posted. It gave me a little trouble...well no, more like a LOT of trouble and it still didn't come out as I had planned, but I'm fairly happy with it. I do apologize if there are any typos or grammar mistakes. I generally finish my chapters and keep them for a few days to read and look over and have it beta'd but I only just finished it and I really wanted to get it up here as soon as possible. Let me know if you find any mistakes and I will gladly fix them. And now, without further adieu, please enjoy the story...and as always let me know what you think!**

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><p>After a night of tossing and turning and half remembered nightmares, Ned had given up on sleep and headed into the kitchens hoping to find something to sooth his nerves. Robert found him a few hours later nursing a cup of tea.<p>

The king sat beside him, clearly hung over. He fixed Ned with a glare that clearly said "make a sound and I'll feed you your own intestines". Ned smirked but remained silent. He wasn't in the mood for conversation either. He took a sip of his tea and stared out the window, enjoying the silence.

It wasn't yet dawn, though the graying of the world outside promised its arrival was upon them. Ned watched as the darkness slowly melted away, his friend half forgotten until he slammed his hand down on the table. The noise echoed in the empty room, startling Ned who turned to stare at Robert with a raised brow.

"Enough of this!" His friend bellowed, wincing slightly as his raised voice seemed to beat upon his already pounding head. Ned smirked but wisely held his tongue, opting instead to wait for Robert to continue.

"We have much to discuss, you and I"

"Then by all means, my friend, what would you like to discuss?" Ned asked but Robert shook his head.

"Not here. There are too many ears"

Ned was about to ask what he meant, but Robert was already standing. He had no choice but to follow his friend as they quickly made their way to the stables. They were mounted and out the doors into open country before Ned could even process what was happening.

Robert set the pace, and soon the inn was but a distant shadow. Ned followed silently, trying to keep up with Robert's fast pace. It wasn't long before they left the Kingsroad and galloped across the rolling plains. The grass was still the green of summer, but Ned could see the crystals of frost clinging to the stalks.

_Winter is coming_ he thought, and an icy chill ran down his spine.

It wasn't until they reached a small copse of trees that Robert slowed his pace. The plains of the North stretched out for miles before them, seemingly endless as horizon met sky. Midnight blue was slowly melting to purple as the sun crept out from behind the hills and the last of the stars were beginning to fade.

They had slowed the horses to a walk now, and Ned took a moment to breathe. The air was crisp and cool. The scent of pine and sweet grass and wildflowers filled his nostrils, accompanied by the harsh of frost and snow that was always present in the North. White mist curled around them, weaving and crawling and slithering along the ground as if it were alive.

The scene seemed to trigger something within him and he felt a sudden pang of….something. Fear? Dread? He tried to put a word to the feeling as a memory struggled to surface; something of mists and shadows and eeriness so thick it set his hair on end. The dream of the night before, he knew. He tried to remember more; knew it was important, but it refused to come forth.

Dawn broke just as they crested a low ridge, painting the sky in light pinks and purples as it chased away the mist. The shadow of his dream withdrew as well, dissolving just as he seemed to grasp it, fading away into the recesses of his mind.

Robert slowed to a stop, breathing in deeply as he dismounted.

"Gods," he laughed, "it feels so good just to get out and _ride_ the way a man was meant to ride!" Robert turned to him then, and for the first time since arriving at Winterfell, Ned could see the man he had grown up with. Not the king, but the carefree youth he had been as a boy. It was oddly comforting. Ned could feel some of the tension within him ease as he returned his friend's smile and dismounted.

"Man was not meant for that lumbering pace. And that wheelhouse, Ned! That damnable wheelhouse with its creaking and groaning and climbing every stone as if it were a mountain! I swear, if that wretched thing breaks another axel, I'm going to burn it, and Cersei can walk!"

Ned laughed the first real laugh in years. "I will light the torch for you!"

"Good man!" They stood silent for a few moments, their laughter echoing in the air around them as they took in the North.

"I've half a mind to leave them all behind and ride and keep riding to the ends of the world." Robert said quietly, almost on a whisper. Ned looked at his friend.

"I do believe you mean it."

"I do. I do" The king's gaze seemed far away then, and Ned was about to speak, but suddenly Robert turned to him with another of his smiles. "What do you say Ned? Just you and me, two vagabond knights on the Kingsroad, our swords at our side and gods know what in front of us, and maybe a farmer's daughter or a tavern wench to keep us warm at night."

Ned returned his smile-they were always catching, Robert's smiles-and clapped his friend on the back. "Would that we could, my friend. But we have duties now. To the realm, to our children. I to my wife and you to your queen. We are not the boys we once were."

"You were never the boy you once were." Robert grumped. "And yet, there was that one time…oh what was her name? Becca? No she was one of mine. Gods bless her, black hair and those sweet brown eyes, so deep you could drown in them. Yours was…Aleena? You told me once. That common girl of yours. You know the one I mean, your bastard's mother?"

"Her name was Wylla, and I'd sooner not speak of her." Ned supplied coldly. He could feel ice clamp around his heart at the mere mention of the woman and a nagging at the back of his head of a promise made and the price he paid to keep it.

"Ah yes, Wylla. She must have been a rare wench to make the great Eddard Stark forget his honor. You never did tell me what she looked like"

"Nor will I ever. Damn it Robert I said to leave it alone. I betrayed my wife and dishonored myself!" Ned tried to stay calm but he could not keep the anger from his voice. Robert paid him no mind.

"Gods you're too hard on yourself. You always have been. We were at war Ned! We didn't know if we would live or die. War is hell and we found comfort where we could. Catelyn has forgiven you, why can't you forgive yourself?"

"Let it go, Robert." Ned warned. Robert smirked.

"If I weren't your king you'd have hit me already." He said, taunting. Ned smiled back.

"Worst thing about your coronation; I'll never get to hit you again!" They both laughed at that.

"That isn't the worst thing, believe me." Robert sighed, his tone somber. Ned raised a brow in question as Robert handed him a piece of parchment. The king was silent as his friend read.

"So Daenerys Targaryen has wed some Dothraki horse lord. What of it? Do you want to send her a wedding gift?" Ned tossed the paper on the table in an amused huff. Robert did not seem pleased.

"A knife perhaps. And a bold man to wield it."

"She's just a child, Robert."

"That child will soon spread her legs and start breeding." The disgust in Robert's voice was hard to miss.

"Tell me we are not speaking of this." It was hard to keep his revulsion curbed. The act of child killing had never sat well with him.

"Oh it's unspeakable is it? What her father did to your family; _that_ was unspeakable. What Rhaegar Targarayen did to _your_ sister- the woman I loved;_ that _was unspeakable. I will kill every Targaryen I can get my hands on." He growled. At that moment, Robert resembled the lion of his wife's house far more than the stag of his own. His black hair framed eyes fierce with anger and his voice shook with rage.

The mention of his sister and her fate opened wounds he thought long healed. The memories of his last moments with his sister were still as clear as if it had happened days ago. He could remember the stench of blood that had hung in the air, the grip of Lyanna's hand in his own, and the desperation in her voice as she pleaded with him.

_Promise me, Ned. _She had been fading, yet her fear made her voice strong. _Promise me, Ned. _And he had promised, for he never could bring himself to deny her anything. Her strength had left her then, and she died with a soft smile on her face.

He had refused to let go of her hand, clinging to it as if the contact meant she was still with him. He had cried, begged, raged and screamed and yet nothing he did had brought her back. Ned shook his head, trying to rid himself of the memories.

"This Khal Drogo, it's said he has a hundred thousand men in his horde" Robert continued on.

"Even a million Dothraki are no threat to the realm. They have no ships, Robert!"

"There are still those in this realm call me usurper. If the Targaryen boy crosses The Narrow with a Dothraki horde at his back the scum will join him."

"He will not cross." Ned said, more forcefully than he'd intended. "And if he does we'll throw him back into the sea."

* * *

><p>There was someone in the room. Their presence was the first thing that registered in Robb's sleep addled mind. He had fallen asleep sometime during the night, he realized with a slight panic. With a groan he opened his eyes and gazed around him.<p>

His arms pillowed his head on Jon's mattress but his neck was stiff and he had the sneaking suspicion that he would be sore as the day progressed. He lifted his head and glanced around; searching for the person whose presence had woken him. He found her standing on the other side of the bed.

Arya held Jon's hand in hers, her fingers tracing small circles on his skin as she spoke softly to him. Robb watched in silence for a moment, unwilling to interrupt and shatter the scene before him. Arya and Jon had always been close, and he couldn't bear to disturb her now.

Her eyes were red and puffy and there was a sheen of unshed tears glistening in her eyes. She held them back though, her jaw set stubbornly as she stared at their brother. He must have made a noise because suddenly she was looking straight at him. He held her gaze for a moment, the two of them sharing a silent look of fear and determination.

"Arya…" He wasn't sure what it was he wanted to say. A part of him wanted to send her away, for he knew she was late for her studies and their mother would be furious if she found her here of all places. Another part, one he tried with all his might to burry deep inside him, was desperate for her company.

It had been a long night, and watching Jon's struggle and being completely helpless in easing his pain had nearly driven him mad. Jon had tossed and turned, screamed and battled against him, crying out in anguish and Robb could do nothing to end his torment. But as horrifying as that had been, it was infinitely worse when Jon lay suddenly completely still and quiet; his labored breathing the only sign that he lived.

"You're bleeding" His little sister's voice shattered the memory's hold on him and he looked at her gratefully.

"What?" He asked

"You're bleeding." Arya repeated. Her voice was small and frightened, so unlike the brave little girl she was. She motioned to the side of her face. Robb felt the spot she indicated on his face. His hand came away red and slick with blood. It took a moment for this to register in his mind.

"It isn't yours." Arya's voice wavered as she spoke. Robb looked back at her. She seemed smaller than usual, and though she was clearly trying to be brave Robb could see the tears threatening to fall. She looked as if she wanted to run but she stood her ground. Her worried gaze fell on Jon and she froze.

Robb saw the fear growing within her and tried to bring her back.

"Arya" She didn't seem to hear him. He tried again, this time stepping towards her.

"Arya!" She jumped when he reached out to shake her, and he could feel his heart break when her tear-filled eyes met his.

"Robb!" His name was a half sob on her lips and he took a moment to consider his words, not wanting to upset her further.

"Hush, now little one." He spoke softly, petting her hair. She sniffled and leaned into his touch, seeking the protection of her big brother. A small smile pulled at his lips as he noticed- it wasn't often that Arya showed such need for comfort.

"But…" Her gaze began to drift to Jon again, but Robb grabbed her chin and gently turned her face so that her eyes met his.

"He's going to be fine, Arya. I promise you. Likely he just pulled a stitch or two last night. Best you go and find Maester Luwin." Calm and confident, his voice held no trace of the fear that set his heart hammering inside his chest. Good.

Arya nodded though he could tell she was still distracted. She took a step away from him, but still she hesitated, her gaze falling yet again to Jon's face.

"Now, Arya!" He insisted, louder now and leaving no room for argument. His sister jumped slightly but finally did as she was told.

When he was certain she had gone, Robb turned his attention back to Jon. He reached for the furs and sheets that covered his brother, glad his sister couldn't see how much his hands were shaking, and gently pulled them back.

He inhaled sharply at the sight before him. Sometime during the night Jon's wound had torn open. The once white bandages that wrapped around his torso were stained red and the sheet beneath him was drenched with blood. Jon was paler than he had ever seen, his chest barely rising and falling.

"Gods!" The whisper was both a curse and a plea to those his people worshiped. He bent over Jon, resting his forehead against his brother's and trying to fight the tears that threatened to spill.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry!" He whispered, his voice ragged from the effort of holding back his sobs.

He had fallen asleep! He couldn't believe it! Anything could have happened to Jon during that time. His brother could have died in the night, alone and in pain, and Robb would have been none the wiser. Guilt over the realization nearly overtook him.

After a moment he straightened, taking a deep breath to steady himself. Suddenly Maester Luwin rushed through the open doorway, his chains clanking as he moved. He didn't wait for Robb to speak, instead pushing past him to examine the dying boy.

Though he said nothing, Robb watched the old man's face darken as he saw the blood pooling around his brother. He placed a hand to Jon's forehead, closing his eyes. Robb watched silently, growing more and more anxious as the seconds passed.

"He's fading fast." Maester Luwin said, barely above a whisper as if he was speaking only to himself. An icy fist seemed to clench Robb's heart. He subconsciously took a step back as if the old man had struck him.

_This isn't happening_ He thought despairingly. Only a few days ago they had been joking and sparring in the training fields. Only yesterday they had argued and he had said those terrible words. _This is all my fault_. If only he hadn't said those things. If only he could take them back. But he had said them, and there was nothing he could do or say that could turn back time.

Maester Luwin had placed his instruments on the nightstand and was now cutting away the soiled bandages. Robb watched as the last of them fell away, leaving the wounds open and vulnerable. He tried to look away but the sight was hypnotizing. Dark red stains splashed skin that was far too pale, creating a sickening contrast that would not let him go.

"What dark magic is this?" He heard the old man hiss. It seemed to break the bloody spell, successfully releasing Robb. He looked at the old man but the old man paid him no heed. Instead he stared at his brother's chest in horror.

A sickening curiosity mingled with Robb's fear as he took a step closer to his brother's side. He followed the old man's gaze. At first all he saw was the blood and he blinked quickly so as not to fall under its spell a second time. Instead he focused on his brother's wounds. They were angry and red and black liquid oozed from them, just as it had last night.

He did not understand. Though the wounds were ugly, it did not explain the reaction from Maester Luwin. He was about to voice his concerns to the old man when it suddenly hit him. He leaned over his brother, trying to get a closer look.

He was hoping it was some sort of trick; a hallucination from a sleep deprived mind, but one look at Maester Luwin confirmed his fears. The wounds had not torn free of the stitches as he had thought. There _weren't_ any stitches at all. It was as if they had somehow dissolved, disappearing without a trace and allowing the blood to flow freely.

Robb stared in horror, watching as the pool around his brother grew with every moment that passed.

* * *

><p>Red tears spilled from the eyes of the weirwood. Bran knew it was only the sap of the heart tree bleeding from the carvings of its face, but today especially it seemed as if the tree was crying. He had come to the Godswood that morning to pray for Jon.<p>

He knew his brother had been gravely injured, though no one would tell him just what had happened. In fact, no one would tell him anything! Every time he inquired about Jon he was given smiles and comforting words about how everything was going to be alright. But he knew better than to believe them.

He could sense the tension in the air. Extra patrols had been sent out beyond their walls, though what they were looking for he didn't know. Everyone was on edge today, as if anticipating something horrible was about to happen.

He should have been having a history lesson with Maester Luwin, but Arya had come running into the room in a panic and the old man had kindly smiled at him, telling him that that would be all for today and abruptly followed Arya. Since then he had been trying to sort through everything that was happening.

He had been shocked to see his sister that morning. When they heard about Jon, Arya had promptly left their lessons to be with him and he hadn't seen her since. Bran had wanted to go too, but something made him hesitate, and he did not want to admit that it was fear.

He was afraid though. Afraid to see his brother wounded and in pain. He was so full of shame but he couldn't help it. Worse still was that no one would tell him anything. He hated it! He hated not knowing what was going on. He had hoped that Arya would tell him something, but after Maester Luwin had sent her away she had locked herself in her room and refused to come out.

He had sat in front of her door for a little while, hoping she would let him in but she never did. It wasn't long before he heard her crying through the heavy door. That had unnerved him and that was when he decided to come here.

A soft whimper caught his attention and he turned to see his direwolf. He had yet to name the pup, but it didn't seem to matter. The beast seemed to know what he wanted without Bran having to voice a command. He smiled and scratched the pup behind the ears, earning a lick to his face in reply before he trotted back to Ghost.

That was the saddest bit. Ghost and the other direwolf pups had been locked in the Godswood since his brother had been injured. Usually when they were confined, the pups would spend their time alternating between howling incessantly and pacing wildly.

This time however they seemed withdrawn and almost depressed. They hadn't made a peep since they were brought here, instead they lay curled up in the clearing of the heart tree. Or rather, Ghost lay curled up. The poor animal seemed to be wasting away before Bran's eyes. He had refused to eat anything Bran or the guards offered and instead lay at the base of the tree in a tight ball.

The other pups stayed close by his side, but it was Grey Wind-Robb's pup- that remained closest. Occasionally he would get up and walk a few paces away from his littermate, scanning their surroundings. These were the only times Bran had seen Ghost move. The albino pup would raise his head and watch his brother silently, for he was always silent, before Grey Wind made his way back to his side.

Grey Wind had just returned to his spot beside his brother. His head rested atop Ghost's shoulder and he gazed at Bran with pain-filled eyes. He made a sigh that was half a whimper.

"Do something" he seemed to be saying to Bran. But Bran didn't know what to do. He had never felt so helpless before. He leaned against the tree, sighing himself as he gazed at the sky.

"Brandon Stark, what are you doing here?" Bran was startled to attention by his mother's voice. Catelyn Stark stood across the spring, staring sternly at him. He hastily stood to face her.

"I was praying for Jon." He said softly, casting his eyes downward in preparation for the lecture that was sure to follow.

"Why are you not at your lessons?" She asked, walking towards him.

"Maester Luwin went to tend to Jon this morning." He explained quietly. He hoped she couldn't hear the sorrow in his voice. Catelyn stopped in front of him. She seemed to be considering his words.

"I see." She was quiet for a moment. Bran chanced a glance at her. He had expected to see a harsh expression on his mother's face. Hard expressions always graced her face when Jon was mentioned, something that always troubled Bran. Instead, his mother looked troubled as she gazed at the direwolves beside him. She seemed to feel his gaze on her and returned her gaze to his.

"You have missed your meals, Bran. Have you been here the whole time?" She asked. His stomach growled in response. He hadn't realized it had been so long, caught up in his thoughts as he was. But now he could see that the shadows were lengthening and the sky was a canvas of oranges and pinks. Dusk was almost upon them already.

Catelyn smiled at him and for the first time since he'd heard about Jon he felt some of the tension leave the air.

"My children insist on starving themselves it seems." She said with a sigh, but her eyes danced with amusement. He felt himself smile in return.

"Come," She said, taking his hand, "let us have some supper." Normally he'd pull away- he was too old to hold his mother's hand- but this time he let her lead him out of the Godswood. This time he could pretend that everything was alright, just as he had when he was small.

His mother let go of him once they reached the edge of the Godswood, and everything came back in full force. The weight of it caused him to slow his pace, and he trailed behind his mother as they made their way to the castle.

"Is Jon going to die?" He asked suddenly. He didn't mean to blurt it out, but he had to know. His mother stopped so suddenly he almost slammed into her back. She turned to look at him, her gaze questioning but guarded.

"Why do you ask such a thing?" She asked. For some reason he couldn't look her in the eye. He was afraid he would cry if he did.

"No one will tell me anything. But everyone is so worried, and Robb hasn't left Jon's room, and Arya is always crying…" He trailed off, unable to finish. The thought of his sister so obviously upset unnerved him most. His elder sister was always so strong and brave. She was more apt to punch someone in the nose than she was to cry. That alone spoke volumes to how serious the situation was.

His mother was silent for a long time. Finally she knelt in front of him, forcing him to meet her gaze.

"Jon Snow was attacked in the wolfswood. He is badly injured, but Maester Luwin has been taking care of him. I'm sure he will do everything in his power to help him." He felt slightly reassured by this. He nodded up at his mother. She smiled, straightened, and they made their way to the Great Hall.

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><p>After making sure Bran had eaten, Catelyn made her way to Arya's chambers. Bran was not the only one who had told her of Arya's reaction to her half brother's injuries. Servants had tried to coax her out of her room and were sent away. Even the Septa couldn't reach the girl.<p>

It was time she took matters in her own hands. Arya needed to learn that the world went on despite the tragedies that befell them. She could not lock herself inside her room and rage at the world, and she certainly couldn't treat the servants as she did.

She turned a corner and almost ran into Maester Luwin. The old man seemed weary and aged beyond his years, his chain seeming to way him down. He back tracked so as not to collide with her, straightening his robes as he did so.

"Forgive me, my lady, I did not see you." He said hastily, bowing slightly.

Catelyn shook her head. "No apologies necessary, Maester. I was not watching where I was going."

She observed the maester silently. He looked haggard to say the least. His hair, what little he still had, was unkempt and stood at odd angles. Blood smeared his forehead and stained his clothes and dark circles bruised his eyes.

"You look tired, Maester. Perhaps you should retire for the evening." She suggested, concerned. The old man sighed, dejected.

"Would that I could, my lady, but I fear that is impossible at the moment." Catelyn hesitated.

"The boy?" She found herself asking without thinking. It was a courtesy, she told herself. She didn't really care about the boy's welfare. He was not her blood after all, but rather a burden; a constant reminder of her husband's infidelity; one that she was forced to face every day for seventeen years.

Ned had once asked her to foster his son. She had been outraged by the thought and didn't speak to him for three days. A part of her had hoped that he would choose her and send the boy away. He did not. It was the one thing she could never forgive him.

From then on she had scorned the boy-she knew it was wrong, that the boy was not at fault, but she did not care. She hated him with every fiber of her being; the boy who looked like Ned more than his own trueborn sons. And yet, she felt a slight pang in her heart that she couldn't explain.

Perhaps it was fear for her own children that she felt. Despite her blatant dislike of the boy, her children had become extremely close with Ned's bastard. Robb and Arya would be especially affected should the boy pass, and it was clear to her now that Bran would be quite upset as well. And then there was Ned. How would he react to news of his son's death?

"Young Snow yet fights." The maester stated. Catelyn felt a relief deeper than she would care to admit at the maester's words, though his expression was dark, telling her it was still too early to let her guard down.

"But…?" The shadows seemed to move in on them.

"But I think we should inform Lord Stark." She was rendered speechless, and could only nod to the old man in agreement. Maester Luwin bowed slightly and continued on his way to the Ravens. Catelyn stood frozen in the hallway for a long time.

The situation was far more dire than she had thought if Maester Luwin would send for Ned. Perhaps she would speak to Arya later, she decided. She had another place to be, another child to speak to.

* * *

><p>To say that he was exhausted was an understatement. Robb was running on pure adrenaline now, and even that was failing him. It had taken hours to clean Jon's wounds and stop the bleeding. The maester would stitch the wound, and a few hours later they would disappear and the bleeding would begin anew.<p>

When finally it seemed that the stitches would not deteriorate the maester had left instruction to keep Jon cool and calm and left to send a message to his father. Now he sat beside his brother's bed, bathing his face, chest, and arms in an attempt to fight the fever that ravaged him. Jon was so weak. His breathing was labored, uneven and painful to listen to, yet he found himself waiting for each breath.

"Fight it, Jon." He ordered softly. "You have to fight it. There are too many lives that would shatter if you give up now. Please, little brother, please don't give up."

A knock on the door startled him more than he would care to admit, a testament to his frayed nerves.

"Come in" he called. The door opened slowly. He turned back to Jon, assuming it was Arya or even Bran at the door and knowing they had every right to be there as he. The person who came into the room was neither his brother, nor his sister however.

"Robb." He spun around, nearly falling out of his chair as he turned to face the speaker.

"M-Mother! What are you doing here?" His mother was the last person he would ever think to come to Jon's room. He knew her feelings towards his brother. He understood her hatred, but he couldn't forgive her for it. Subconsciously he moved in front of Jon. He knew his mother would not hurt his brother, but a part of him still didn't trust her with him.

She saw the movement, small as it was. He could see the hurt in her eyes as she realized he didn't completely trust her, but she continued as if she hadn't noticed.

"You've missed your meals. You haven't been in training. You haven't left this room in nearly two days, Robb. Can't a mother worry for her son?" He looked away from her, ashamed he had worried her.

"I'm sorry, Mother. It was not my intent to worry you. I just…I can't leave him." He looked back at her, his eyes pleading with her, begging her to understand. She smiled at him and walked over to the bedside. He forced himself to relax, hated to admit how much her presence so close to his brother unnerved him.

"Relax," she said, and he was shocked to hear amusement in her tone. "I won't hurt him, I promise." She gazed at his wounds. They had been left un-bandaged in case the wounds opened again. He relaxed slightly as he watched her.

"It seems as if someone has done the job for me." She said under her breath. He narrowed his eyes but she did not seem to even notice what she'd said.

"How is he?" She asked, looking back at him. Robb sighed. He was so tired. He looked away from her, gazing instead at Jon.

"He's very weak. Something in the poison dissolves the stitches and he's lost a lot of blood. The fever is draining whatever strength he has left." He took a shaky breath and looked back at his mother.

To his complete surprise she had placed a hand Jon's forehead, gently smoothing his hair back away from his face. The touch was so tender that for a moment he feared he was dreaming and that he had fallen asleep once again.

The moment was gone just as suddenly as she seemed to realize what she was doing. She snapped her hand away, stepped back, and faced him. Her features were hard and determined, and he prepared for a lecture, even an order to leave.

"Seventeen years, I've hated that boy." Her voice was soft and bitter, angry tears welled in her eyes. "Yet I see what will become of my family if he's lost." She swallowed hard before continuing, and Robb realized he was holding his breath. He let it out, waiting for her to continue.

"I will not tell you to leave, as I know my orders will go unheeded. It appears I have mothered mules instead of children and I curse your stubbornness." She smiled then, turning to leave.

"But Robb," She said when she reached the door. She waited until she had his full attention before continuing. "You must take care of yourself. You are no used to him exhausted and starving." He nodded and she was gone.

* * *

><p><em>Ned was dreaming again, only this time he was in the Godswood at Winterfell. Mist rose from the spring in slow circles, curling up as if they were fingers trying to grasp him. The air around him was sweet with the smell of winter roses, the ground beneath his feet crunched with a layer of fresh snow. <em>

_At first glance all seemed peaceful, but there was a sinister edge to the air that Ned did not miss. His hand rested on Ice as he moved around the spring. He was searching for answers, but to what question he could not say. All he knew was that he had to reach the heart tree. _

_He could see the weirwood tree ahead, its red leaves dancing in the breeze. His steps quickened and his grip on the sword's hilt tightened. For the first time he noticed there was no sound. No birds chirped, no insects buzzed. The air was deathly silent and it sent a chill down his spine. _

_The great tree loomed ahead, closer now. The tears of red sap flowed freely from its carved eyes, trailing to the ground and into the water._

Odd_ he thought as he moved closer. _It almost looks like its bleeding_. He bent to study the trail when a twig snapped ahead of him. He stood swiftly, freeing Ice from its sheath in one fluid motion. His blood ran cold and his breath caught in his throat, for there in front of him stood a man with eyes black as coal. _

_He smiled wickedly at Ned, teeth white, pointed, and sharp. His hands were large and claws tipped each of his fingers. But what unnerved Ned most was the boy he held. The creature held Jon by the neck in front of his own body. He gazed at the boy, white hot rage growing like a wild fire within him._

_Jon had deep, angry wounds on his chest and side. He looked at Ned through pain filled eyes. He looked as though he wanted to cry out or move toward him, but the creatures hand tightened around his throat, eliciting a hiss of pain. The creature chuckled and the sound of it burned Ned's ears. _

"_Who are you?" Ned growled, eyes never leaving Jon's._

"_I am called Azaezel." The creature answered._

"_What do you want?" Ned asked, trying to remain calm._

"_To feast." It said. His grin sent shivers down Ned's spine. He tried to control the rage that was building inside of him. The creature's hold on Jon's neck tightened again. The boy cried out and Ned could see a thin line of blood trickling from where it's claws tore at his flesh. _

_Every part of Ned screamed for action but he forced himself to stand still. _

"_Release the boy." Ned ordered. The beast only smiled in reply, flashing it's fangs._

"_No." The creature replied nonchalantly. He was baiting him, Ned could see that. Ned took a step toward the creature, raising Ice. The beast hissed and moved back, pulling Jon closer to him. It glared at Ned; its fangs inches from Jon's neck. Ned understood the threat and stopped._

"_Release the boy and take a man." Ned tried again, praying his desperation didn't seep into his voice. The creature only snorted, turning as if to leave. Ned snarled and moved forward again._

"_Give me my son." He growled at the creature. It stared back at him, almost bored. The rage threatened to spill over._

"_Give me back my son, demon!" This caused the demon to laugh. It looked at Jon, smiling wickedly. Ned watched as the creature rubbed its nose along Jon's jaw line and down his neck, almost as if he were nuzzling a lover only far more sinister. Jon screwed his eyes shut as if the touch burned. The demon finally stopped, his fangs hovering over Jon's pulse point, and glared at Ned._

"_He is not your son." It said as it stabbed its free hand into the wound at Jon's side. Jon cried out in pain as Ned screamed, his rage finally breaking free._

* * *

><p>His own scream woke him and he shot up, looking around wildly in the dark room. His bedclothes clung to him, soaked from sweat and he found he was shaking. He took a few breaths, trying to slow his racing heart and calm his nerves. It was a dream, nothing more and certainly nothing to fear.<p>

Ned walked over to the basin and splashed water on his face. He gazed out of his window and tried to steady himself. The sun was only just beginning to rise; they would be marching for King's Landing in a few hours and he would need to be alert.

Ned was considering taking a walk into the gardens to ease his mind when a knock on his door sounded.

"My lord, urgent news from Winterfell!" Jory called before Ned could even enquire as to who was knocking. Ned hastily opened the door and Jory handed him the letter. He recognized Maester Luwin's hand. The message was simple, but his blood turned to ice as he read.

_Jon Snow has been attacked_

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><p><em><em>**So there it is guys! I kept the conversation between Robert and Ned pretty close to that of the show, though I did mix in a few bits from the book along with my own little flair. I ho****pe nobody minds. I just really liked that part in the show and couldn't think of a better way to write it. I'm not sure how I feel about Catelyn and Bran's parts. I had not originally planned on writing them, at least not in this chapter and especially not Catelyn, but a few people had asked about them so I hope it answers some questions. Also I hope I was able to pull off and explain some of what Catelyn is feeling. She is definitely not my favorite character by any means, but I do feel bad for her at times. Also the dream scene with Ned and the demon was basically the force behind this fic. It didn't come out exactly as I had planned but I do like it and I hope you enjoyed it as well. **

**So anyways, I again apologize profusely for the long absence. The primary reason was due to a lack of plot for this story. I stated from the beginning that it started out as a few scenes in my head that just wouldn't leave me alone, and now I have to string along some plot together since apparently people are actually enjoying it! So now I have a vague idea of where this story is going, though nothing is set in stone right now so if you guys have anything in particular that you would like to see; interactions between certain characters, a particular character, anything really please just let me know. Though I will say right now that I will not be doing slash. Unless of course it's cannon and by that I mean Renly and Tyrell. The only thing that will happen between Robb and Jon is brother fluff. Though if you wish to read between the lines that is your right. Anyways please let me know what you think. I will try to have the next chapter up soon, but I make no promises. My muse works sporadically and I do have a life outside of fan fiction. But really, the best way to get an update is by reviewing and spreading the love :) I love you guys!  
><strong>

**~Howlet  
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	6. Hold Back the Storm

**First of all I must apologize for the lengthy absence. I am so sorry you guys. I did not mean for it to take this long to get an update up, but RL got CRAZY when my favorite cousin decided to get married and asked me to be a bridesmaid. I barely had time to breath, let alone write! But you guys are AMAZING! I can't even begin to explain to you how honored I am for the following this story has accumulated. So, without further adieu I give you chapter 6 of Honor and Lies. I hope you all enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I just realized I haven't put one of these up yet. So, basically, if you recognize it, it's probably not mine ;D**

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><p>It was near midnight when Arya finally opened her door. Hesitantly she glanced around, making sure the hallway was clear before stepping out of her room; she had no desire to talk to anyone tonight. Hours earlier her mother had come to her room, but Arya had pretended to be asleep. She was sure her mother knew she was pretending, but Catelyn left her in peace nonetheless.<p>

Now she slipped through the crack in the door. As silent as she could, Arya tiptoed her way through the dark hallway, wrapping her cloak tight around her body to ward off the chill in the air. Candles and torches flickered as if in greeting as she walked by, the shadows they cast danced eerily along the walls. She glanced at them fearfully but pushed on regardless, unwilling to let anyone or anything keep her from her destination.

Arya hesitated by the big oaken doors at the entrance of the Great Keep. She glanced around her to be sure she was alone before slowly pushing open the door. She peered through the crack, searching the shadows for any sign of movement. When her eyes found nothing amiss she opened the door wider, slipping out into the darkness.

The night air was a cold caress against her skin, promising another summer squall, but she paid it no mind. Cold was nothing to a daughter of Winterfell, and she had somewhere to be. Quiet as a mouse, Arya slipped along the courtyard of the stronghold, careful not to be seen by the guards. She avoided the main Iron Gate so as not to be discovered, and instead made her way to one of the wooden gates that marked the entrance to the Godswood.

As soon as Arya stepped into the wood she felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Her fear and sadness were still there, of course, but they seemed lessoned somehow. She felt reassured, as if the gods themselves were telling her that everything was going to be alright.

The great branches of the ancient trees were woven together, creating a dense canopy above her that blocked out most of the sky. Moon and stars where hidden from her view, but it did not matter; she could have found her way blindfolded and it wasn't long before she reached the heart of the wood.

The face stared back at her, haunting and silent; red tears trailing down its trunk. She had been frightened of the heart tree as a child. The strange face and bloody tears seemed ominous and judging, as if it could see into her very soul, her faults and weaknesses laid bare. Tonight, however, it was almost comforting, as if it understood. And perhaps it did; her people believed they were the eyes and ears of the old gods after all. Tonight more than any other night she prayed it was so.

Arya knelt before the weirwood tree, head bowed low and hands digging into the soft dirt. She didn't know where or how to begin. As the youngest daughter of Ned Stark, Arya was no stranger to the rites and rituals of the old gods. She had been in this wood countless times before, but this was different somehow.

"Please," she began, and she hated how her voice trembled. She had always said her prayers just in case the gods were real, but the words were usually more an afterthought. But this was real, this was important, and for once in her life she prayed with her whole heart.

"Please," she began again, her voice stronger this time. She glanced up at the face, a trail of tears to mirror her own tracks. She felt a new determination flow through her, rejuvenating her. "Please help him. You can't let him die, you just can't!" Her voice wavered dangerously and she broke off, taking a breath to steady herself.

"He's my brother. He taught me to shoot an arrow. He helped me learn my letters and my sums. We sit outside at night with Robb and Bran and count the stars and he tells me stories and plays the best games and never ever tells Mother when I've snuck out on my lessons to climb trees or ride! He convinced Father to let us keep the direwolf pups!" She was sobbing now but she didn't care.

Countless images flooded her mind. Images of her and her brothers racing horses in the Godswood; Of Jon and her sneaking sweets from the kitchens; Of Jon holding her in the wake of a nightmare- she tried to picture the memories without Jon, but they seemed hollow and wrong. What would she do without her brother? How could she go about her life without ever hearing his laugh, without him mussing up her hair and calling her 'little sister'?

"He's my brother." Her voice sounded so small. She sniffled and wiped the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. "He's my brother and you can't have him!" She glared at the tree, but the tears in her eyes must have softened her expression. Her vision swam before her, blurring the face until it was just a white smudge in the darkness.

Her strength seemed to melt away, along with her bravery and she lay on the ground. Shadows began to shift around her and she noticed the pups for the first time that night. Shaggydog and Bran's pup were fighting over a stick while Grey Wind watched. Nymeria trotted over to her, nudging her gently with her muzzle before lying down beside her with a soft whine. All of the pups, she noticed, stayed close to Ghost.

The albino pup lay in a tight ball in the center of the clearing. Grey Wind lay close beside him, watching his brothers play. After a few moments however, hesettled his head down against Ghost's shoulder, sighing heavily.

Arya snuggled close to Nymeria, burying her face into the pup's soft fur. She wondered if the gods had heard her prayers. The darkness closed in around her but instead of the oppressive, frightening darkness of the crypts, this was peaceful.

The wind whispered through the trees, rustling the leaves and tugging at her hair and Arya fancied the gods were speaking to her. She fell asleep to the music of the leaves blowing in the wind and the warmth of Nymeria beside her.

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><p><em>The demon's claws dug into Jon's shoulder, though he hadn't even seen it move. A putrid scent filled his nose and Jon fought the urge to vomit. The creature chuckled, deep and throaty and the sound sent shivers down his spine as the hairs at the back of his neck rose. <em>

_Jon tried to push the thing off of him, but it was too strong. Instead, the creature sank its claws farther into his shoulder. White-hot pain washed over him and an agonized scream tore from his lips. Black haze clouded his mind and the next thing he knew he was pushed against the heart tree, its bark pressing uncomfortably against the skin of his cheek. _

_Trying to breathe through the pain, Jon glanced around him looking for the creature before he realized it was still behind him. He tried to turn around and face it, but the demon held him fast against the tree, pressing his face hard into the bark. He could feel the sap against his skin; sticky and warm and wet. _

_The creature laughed again, a dark and chilling sound void of any mirth and it was then that he realized it wasn't sap that now coated his face, but blood. He glanced up and was met face to face with Robb's, a look of horror and agony forever plastered on his face. Jon recoiled as if he'd been burned but the demon held him in place. _

"_What's the matter, little cub?" It mocked. "Does a dead boy frighten you?"_

"_What have you done?" Jon asked the thing, trying to fight the terror that flooded him._

"_A masterpiece." The creature replied, a hint of pride in its voice. "And this is only the beginning."_

_Jon closed his eyes, trying to block out the horror before him but the image of his brother's tortured face seemed burned in his mind. _

"_Why have you done this?" His voice quavered and he hated how weak it sounded. He opened his eyes and glared at the tree and the gore as if his gaze alone would melt it all away. "They've done nothing!" he snarled. _

"_Nothing? You would defend them as if they were your family?" The creature seemed puzzled by this, its grip loosened slightly._

"_They _are_ my family!" Fury was bubbling inside him, along with the horrible agonizing pain of loss. The demon snorted and slammed him hard against the tree yet again. The force of the impact caused the tree to shake and the bodies hanging from its branches made a sickening dance; whirling and twirling around one another in a gory waltz. Try as he might, Jon could not look away._

"_Brave words. Sweet words." The demon tsked. "Yet hollow with their lies." Before Jon could inquire to his meaning the demon turned him so sharply his head was still swimming even as he met the creature's eyes. They were cold and dead, betraying not a hint of its thoughts and sending icy fingers down his spine. Jon tried to look away but the creature grabbed his face and held him in place._

"_I wonder if you'd be so quick to defend them if you knew the truth of their feelings for _**you**" _Jon narrowed his eyes and the demon laughed._

"_Your precious siblings were quick to betray you. Even before I began to flay them. They told me where to find you. Cursed your name. They wanted to watch me rip the skin from your face, begged to hear your screams call out in the night air." The monster's smirk showed its fangs; white and sharp and deadly. _

"_You're lying." Jon spat out but the demon only laughed harder._

"_I read their thoughts; felt the hatred in their souls. This one was darkest of all." He reached out and pushed at Robb's face, sending him in a gentle circle, dead black blood dribbling and oozing in little trails on the forest floor. __Jon closed his eyes._

He's lying, _he thought. _They are your brothers and sisters. They would never speak against you. _But somewhere in the back of his mind Robb's words were echoing. _

What would a bastard know of honor? _The words had been dripping with anger and annoyance. _It isn't true!_ Jon argued, shaking the memory back from whence it came. _

"_All these years the hatred swirled and burned, blackening his soul. He hated how your father forced them all to treat you as their own. Hated what you stood for; a black mark on his father's honor, the walking, breathing memory of how he turned from his vows and wife to bed a common whore."_

"_Liar!" but Robb's voice echoed through his head once again, filled with venom. _'What would a bastardknow of honor?'_He squeezed his eyes shut as the demon laughed._

"_What reason would I have to lie?" The demon asked as he dug his nails into Jon's shoulder. Jon bit back a scream and instead glared back at the creature, his own tone biting._

"_What reason do you have to tell the truth?" The demon raised a brow at this and smirked. _

"_Clever boy" It said before it sunk its claws into Jon's side and slashed._

* * *

><p>"Robb…" Jon moaned softly, tossing his head from side to side. Robb's head snapped up at the sound of Jon's voice. He rose from the chair to lean over his brother, his heart racing.<p>

For what seemed like an eternity after Maester Luwin last stitched his wounds, Jon had been alarmingly still. It seemed as if his will to live had drained from himalong with the blood he had lost and Robb was beginning to despair.

"Jon?" He asked, afraid to hope. "Jon can you hear me?" Jon tensed in response, fingers clenching the sheets.

"Please, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Jon whimpered and the anguish in his voice broke Robb's heart. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please forgive me"

Robb blinked back the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes. He sat in the chair once again, taking Jon's hand in his own. The strength in Jon's grip gave him hope and he squeezed back.

"Shh, easy, Snow. I'm here." He whispered, hoping Jon heard. "I'm right here, little brother. I'm not going anywhere, just relax."

A knock sounded at the door, so softly Robb thought he'd imagined it at first. The heavy oaken wood creaked ominously at his acknowledgment and Bran stepped shyly into the soft torchlight of the room.

"Bran! What are you doing up at this hour?" Robb tried to sound stern, but failed miserably as his voice betrayed the weariness he felt.

"I couldn't sleep." Bran replied, glancing fearfully at their brother. Robb sighed heavily and waved him over to the bed. Bran hesitated for a moment, almost afraid. His gaze sought Robb's own, and Robb thought he saw anger flicker in his brother's blue eyes but it was gone in an instant. He finally moved toward the bed, sitting across from Robb.

For a long while neither brother spoke, both too intent on studying Jon. It was a heavy silence, but under the haze of fear and sorrow there was comfort in the knowledge that they were not alone.

"He used to sit with me like this. When I was sick." Bran's voice was soft but strong. Robb looked up at him but Bran was staring at Jon. "They would make me stay in bed all day; even if I told them I was better. And it would be so _boring_, even with Old Nan and her stories. But then Jon would come and sit with me. Sometimes he would sneak me up some sweets or something from the kitchens and he'd read to me."

There was a whisper of a smile on his face as the memories seemed to play in his mind, and Robb could feel his own mouth twitch at the thought of Jon smuggling treats from the kitchens. Bran took Jon's hand in his own, serious once again.

"He always came. Even when I was asleep I knew he was there." He gave their brother's hand a light squeeze. "Do you think he knows we're here?" He asked Robb.

Robb turned to study Jon's face. "I hope so" He said to Bran, but he wasn't sure. There were times that Jon seemed to respond to Robb's presence, when a touch or word would appear to sooth him, but Robb could never be sure if it was truly an awareness of him that eased his brother.

"Who would do this? Why would someone want to hurt Jon?" Bran asked, almost timidly. Fear and anger blended together in his voice mirroring the feelings that swirled in Robb's own heart.

"It could have been an accident." Robb stated, though it was clear from his voice to both of them that he didn't believe that. "He shouldn't have been in those woods alone and unarmed." _But he was, and it's all my fault._

"Why was he?" Bran asked. It was such a simple question, so innocent, and yet Robb found he could not meet his brother's eyes. How could he explain to his younger brother? How could he tell Bran that he himself was the cause for their brother's current condition?

_No _ a voice nagged inside him _not the sole cause. You did not loose the arrows. _And when he discovered who had, there wouldn't be a place in the world they could hide.

"Robb?" Bran's voice was soft yet effective in drawing his brother's attention, and as Robb looked into his little brother's clear blue eyes he knew he could not lie to him. He closed his eyes for a moment, drawing in a long and ragged breath. He met Bran's gaze and sighed.

"We had an argument," he began, his voice wavering slightly as the memory flooded him, "I said things I didn't mean but they upset Jon nonetheless and he ran off. I thought he had gone to the godswood, but when he didn't come back for supper I knew something was wrong."

He looked away for a moment, afraid of what he would see in Bran's eyes, but when he forced himself to look back, Bran was gazing at Jon. Robb had never seen the boy as intense before, and as Bran's eyes returned to his once more he could feel his heart stop.

"I don't think this was an accident, Robb." Bran stated, his voice sad and angry and afraid all at once. Robb held the gaze, feeling his own anger rise in an icy wave.

"No," He agreed, "No I don't think it was." He returned his attention back to Jon, trying to hide his anger so as not to frighten Bran. _And when I find out who did this, nothing will stand in the way of my vengeance. They will suffer every wound they inflicted and a thousand more. I will have their heads for this. They will beg for mercy but they will not have it. They will never have it. And when I am through with them, I shall cut out their black heart and feed it to Ghost. I swear it, Jon. I swear it by the old gods and the new, this will not go unpunished. _

* * *

><p>"Sansa, I'll not ask you again. Gather your things and get ready to go!" Ned said with an irritated sigh. Dawn broke only an hour before, bringing with it news from Winterfell that Jon Snow had been attacked in the Wolfswood and was badly injured. He had given orders to his men to prepare to leave immediately, and had made his way to Sansa's pavilion to tell her the news and have her gather her things.<p>

"No! Joff is my fiancé and I am staying!" It had not gone as he had planned. Sansa's jaw was set stubbornly in what Ned was sure was purely a Tully fashion, as she surely had not acquired it from his side of the family.

"Sansa…" he tried again, as gently as he could. Subconsciously he rubbed his temples; he could feel a headache coming on.

"No! I don't see why you have to go back anyways! He's just a bast-" Sansa stopped herself midsentence. Her anger had gotten the best of her, the look on her face told him she hadn't meant what she said, but Ned's temper flared regardless and he stood up and stepped towards his eldest daughter.

"_He_ is your brother, bastard or not!" Though his tone was low it was by no means gentle. Anger dripped on every word and his rage must have shown on his face as well, for Sansa dropped her eyes and took a step back.

"I-I'm sorry, Father. I didn't mean…" she stammered, tongue tripping over her words and he was sure he could see tears filling her eyes, though whether they were born of shame, sadness, or anger he couldn't be sure. They were gone in any case when she met his gaze again, chased away by a quiet determination.

"I am sorry that Jon was hurt, truly I am, and I pray he recovers. But I _can't_ go, Father! Don't you see? I am to be Prince Joffery's wife soon. His queen! My place is by his side now," Her cool blue eyes stared into his, determined and pleading. Ned stared back.

"Alright," he sighed, seeing the truth in her words. Robert would be cross enough with Ned leaving so abruptly, he did not want to think of the fight that would result in his taking Sansa back with him. Sansa's face lit up and she threw her arms around him.

"Oh thank you, Father!" She held him in a tight embrace; he squeezed her gently before pulling away.

"I will leave Jory and whomever he chooses with you. Behave yourself, or I will know the reason why. And Sansa," He made sure he had her full attention before he continued, "I pray you do not regret your decision. " Her grin faded away as she nodded, and with that Ned kissed her forehead and said his goodbyes. He left word with Jory about staying with Sansa before he went searching for his king.

He found Robert breaking his fast with Ser Barristan Selmy and a few other knights he did not recognize.

"Ah, Ned! Sit and drink with us and share us some stories of war!" The king bellowed, his voice echoing in the morning air.

"Would that I could, your grace, but I must speak with you." He glanced at the others. Robert nodded and stood, leading Ned to his pavilion.

"Speak your mind." Robert said once they were alone in his tent. "What could possibly be bothering you this early in the morning?"

"There was a raven in the night." Ned said, handing Robert the letter. Robert took it and read the words carefully, glancing back at Ned when he was through.

"So your bastard was attacked, what of it?" Ned stared at him incredulous.

"What do you mean 'what of it'? My son was attacked! I must return home!" Robert laughed, loud and booming.

"Whatever for? They didn't catch the assassin or the note would have mentioned it. There is no justice to be had, no heads to be taken, what purpose is there for you to return to Winterfell?" The king's amusement was apparent, and Ned felt himself bristle.

"My son is gravely injured, Robert" Ned tried to keep his tone even, but the rage inside him was building.

"A bastard son and you are the Hand. Your place is with your king, or do you need reminding?" There was a warning tone in Robert's voice, but Ned paid it no heed.

"He is my son, Robert, and I will go to him with or without your leave."

"And what would you do for him that your maester can not? What great power do you possess that requires you to leave your friend's side, your _king's_ side, to sit by your bastard's deathbed?" It was meant as a jest, but Robert's words sent an icy chill down Ned's spine at the thought.

"Please, Robert. For the love you say you bear me, let me go to my son."

Robert looked like he wanted to strangle him, but Ned refused to back down. Finally Robert waved his hands in the air in defeat. He fixed Ned with a hard stare.

"Damn your honor and damn that bastard of yours. Fine. Go. I'll give you a month, Ned. Go to your son, bury him, and be done with it. But if you have not returned in that time, I will send out my legions and have you dragged back to me by your hair." Ned had to laugh at that.

"As you command, your grace." He gave a mock bow and turned to leave. "Thank you, my friend" he added when he was at the entrance. An angry grunt was all he heard when he exited the pavilion.

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><p>Birdsong filled the air with a wild music. Soft, pale morning light glittered through the leaves above, dancing along the forest floor with every fluttering of a leaf. A warm sensation stirred Arya awake and for a moment she didn't know where she was. It wasn't until Nymeria whined and licked her cheek again that Arya remembered.<p>

"I fell asleep." She realized. Nymeria yipped and danced around excitedly at Arya's sudden signs of life. Arya reached out and scratched the pup behind her ears. Nymeria nipped gently at her wrist and bounded away.

Shaggydog suddenly appeared from behind the weirwood tree and leapt on top of his sister, tugging on her scruff. Nymeria kicked him off with a playful growland the two chased one another around the clearing.

Arya laughed as she watched them play, the first real laugh since Jon had been injured she realized. Bran's pup, still unnamed, trotted over to Grey Wind and Ghost, biting at their paws playfully. Grey Wind yawned, swatted at his brother with a paw, and nipped at his muzzle but stayed where he was. Ghost didn't even look up.

After a few unsuccessful attempts at rousing his brothers, Bran's pup trotted away and joined Nymeria and Shaggydog in their play. Arya watched them roll around and jump on one another for a few moments before turning back to Grey Wind and Ghost.

Grey Wind had rested his head against Ghost's neck. He watched his brothers and sisters play longingly, yet he refused to leave his pale brother. It reminded her of Robb and how he refused to leave Jon's side.

'_I should be there too' _she thought with a pang in her heart. She moved to sit up, stretching slowly and trying to work the knots in her shoulders and back caused by a night of lying on a hard ground. Nymeria trotted over to her and nuzzled her side, whining softly.

"I'm sorry, Nymeria. I have to be somewhere." She gave the pup a scratch under the chin before standing. Nymeria walked over to where Grey Wind lay with Ghost, touching noses with her brothers before snuggling beside the white pup. Arya smiled at the pups before turning and making her way out of the wood.

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><p>It was turning out to be a beautiful day. Birdsong filled the air and the sun shone merrily through the few fluffy white clouds that sauntered casually across the blue sky. Sansa led Lady quietly along the bank of a slow moving creek, stopping under the shade of a low hanging oak branch.<p>

She leaned against the rough bark for a moment and watched as a leaf floated gently down the stream, soaking up the sun. She had spent most of the morning in the queen's wheelhouse, sharing tea and sweets with the princess Myrcella and the young prince Tommen. It was pleasant enough, but Sansa found that she was not nearly as elated as she should have been.

If truth be told, Sansa was in a dark mood. A black cloud seemed to hang over her and not even a morning with the queen and her children could shake it from her shoulders. The wheelhouse seemed stiflingly hot and when it came to a shuddering halt so the king could hunt, Sansa thanked the queen and politely took her leave.

The cool breeze kissed her skin and she inhaled deeply, savoring the smells of grass and wild flowers. Sansa sat on the mossy ground beside Lady. The direwolf pup attempted to crawl into her lap, but Sansa gently pushed her away.

"No, Lady, you're too big!" she giggled. The pup sniffed as if offended and Sansa kissed her nose in an attempt to make amends. Lady contented herself in laying her head on Sansa's knee while the girl scratched her behind the ears.

"Father is afraid" she told the pup. Lady twitched an ear in response, watching her from half closed eyes. Sansa smiled softly and settled against the tree. Lady always listened.

"Jon must really be hurt for him to have raced off so quickly." The thought weighed heavily on her mind, along with her father's warning to her. "But he'll be alright, won't he? He has to be alright." She tried to reassure herself but the darkness that had lingered over her all morning crept back up her spine.

_But what if he isn't? _The thought startled her so fiercely that her breath caught in her chest. Life without her half-brother? She couldn't imagine it! They had never been close, not since she was a child. Ever since she learned what he was and what that meant she had treated Jon with a cool courtesy, never showing more affection than was required.

He didn't seem to mind much anyways; Arya was his favorite after all- Arya and their brothers, though her sister acted more like a boy anyways so she supposed it was only natural. Still, despite what he was Sansa could not imagine what life would be like without him. The very thought frightened her more than she could have ever believed, more than she would ever care to admit even to herself.

There was a time such matters of parentage had never been an issue, before childhood innocence melted away in the wake of understanding. Once she had been blissfully unaware of what Jon was, and he had simply been her older brother whom she loved with all her heart. Back when it had been only her and Robb and Jon.

She remembered how he would smile at her, and how excited she felt whenever he paid her even the slightest attention. How he and Robb would sit with her for hours telling stories or playing games. How they would sing and dance with her at feasts.

It all seemed so far away now, and his smiles were now reserved for Arya. She tried to ignore the pang of jealousy that oozed in her heart whenever she saw them. It had been she who turned from him after all.

She would never forget the look of hurt on his face when she began to pull away from him. But she could no longer look at Jon and not see how his very presence proved her father's betrayal. It had been a terrible moment, when everything came into place and the blissful childhood ignorance was shattered forever. Nothing was ever the same after that.

Yet there was a moment only a few months passed when she almost forgot all that. She had been shaken awake from a nightmare. She could not remember what it had been about, but it was so terrible it had taken nearly an hour for the terror to fade. She had sat straight up after being awoken, desperately clinging to the form before her before even realizing who it had been.

Jon had held her tight as she sobbed into his chest, stroking her hair and murmuring words of comfort. When she finally calmed down she had been almost afraid to break the contact. For those precious moments, time stopped and she was a child again finding comfort in her brother's arms.

All too soon it had ended. Jon pulled away first, meeting her gaze with an understanding smile before kissing her on the forehead. Sansa could do nothing but watch him go. She wanted to scream at him, to run to him, to hug him and tell him she was sorry. Instead all she could manage was a whispered thank you as he walked out of the room. She never knew if he'd heard her or not, and things went back to the way they had always been.

Lady licked her hand, startling her from the memory. Sansa took a shuddering breath and gently massaged the pup behind her ears. Her hands were shaking and she glared at them angrily. Again her father's words echoed in her mind.

What if he was right? There were so many things she wanted to tell Jon; how sorry she was for being as foolish as to blame him for something that he had no control over in the first place. What if he died before she had a chance to tell him how much she cared about him?

"But Father will be with him soon. Everything will be fine once Father is there." She told herself, and with all her heart she prayed it was true.

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><p>Ned had been riding all morning. His mare was tiring quickly but he could not let up. The royal procession had left Winterfell more than a week past, but they had traveled at a lumbering pace to accommodate the queen's massive wheelhouse. Ned hoped that as a single rider he could make better time and be home in two or three days.<p>

His thoughts drifted to Jon and the dream from the night before. He remembered the way the demon had laughed as it tortured his son, remembered the look of agony on Jon's face and his rage and fear sparked anew. The dream had felt so real-unlike any he had ever had.

His father had told him stories as a boy; legends of the First Men and their secret powers. Their blood flowed through the veins of the Starks and many of his ancestors claimed to have the Sight. His library was full of accounts and memoirs of how various forefathers dreamed of things yet to come, predictions of wars or tragedies a great great grandfather or uncle had dreamed up. But surely they were no more than stories. Magic no longer existed in their world.

Yet the nagging in the back of his head was still there, and it grew with every passing day. The nightmares and his son's accident were a strange coincidence even he could not deny. Something in his heart urged him faster; he had to return home soon or he risked losing his son forever, though he wasn't sure if it was the fear of a worried parent that spurred him on or something else entirely.

He raced across the plains, his homeland nothing more than a blur of green and brown. His horse leapt across a narrow creak but it barely registered in his mind. All that Ned could think of was reaching Jon in time.

_Hold on, Jon. I'll be there soon, just hold on._

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><p><strong>This chapter was originally going to be longer, however my muse and I have been at odds and I wasn't happy with where it was going. I also felt that this was as good a place as any to end it. I hope you guys enjoyed it! Again you are so amazing! I love hearing what you all think-and the more detailed the better-so please review! Also please let me know if you find any typosformatting issues. I think I found them all, but the site and I had a little spat and I've been having issues with the formatting. Hopefully the next chapter will be up soon, but it all depends on my muse's cooperation. Check my profile page for updates. I try to post what's going on at least once a month.  
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